


You're Damn Right It's A Kiss Fic

by sebviathan



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Second Person, Post-good ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 12:26:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11646534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebviathan/pseuds/sebviathan
Summary: You told Robert that when he felt ready for a romantic relationship, you'd be there, and that you wouldn't rush him. But you would never have even needed to.(The kisses Robert gives you after that third date, and before you're able to kiss him back.)





	You're Damn Right It's A Kiss Fic

**Author's Note:**

> I kept the dadsona pretty vague other than what's canon, so there should be no reason it wouldn't be able to apply to you!
> 
> Anyway I would die for Robert Small and I wrote this to feel complete. I hope it makes you feel complete, too.

**(forehead)**

 

Robert just lets himself in these days. You really don't mind it at all, though you never explicitly gave him permission—of course, you've never told him  _not_  to. You like the notion that he might partially live here, at least. That  _someone_  lives here other than you, and that at any time you might find him flipping through channels on your couch, or raiding your cupboards for snacks, or playing fetch with Betsy in your backyard because it's bigger than his own.

The only problem is that sometimes, especially when you're preoccupied, you don't hear him come in.

Emotional preoccupation usually doesn't count. But a segment about a fatal car crash on a nearby highway has just come up on the news, and like you always do when these things come up, you think of your husband.

You change the channel, but the waves of grief keep coming. And you realize that it has been about a month since Amanda left for college, and it seems to be only just now that you're truly feeling the weight of her absence. And your husband's absence. And you're just—

"You alright?" comes Robert's voice.

It takes you a second to realize that he's standing right beside the couch. You don't know how much he's seen of you holding your face and tearing up, but you still decide to play it cool and tell him,

"Yeah, just tired."

He frowns in between you and the TV. It's on a Spanish channel, and you don't speak Spanish, which is probably suspicious.

"Why don't you take a nap?"

"I'm trying to quit napping so much, remember?" you say.

"Right. Yeah." He looks slightly embarrassed, but not entirely convinced.

After a moment of standing there, Robert sits down next to you, grabs the remote, and changes the TV from the infomercial that was on to the History Channel. You take a breath and relax your shoulders, trying your damndest to appear normal.

"Hey, maybe I wanted to buy that fruit slicer!"

"You have plenty of fruit slicers already," he says. "They're called knives."

Okay, that cheers you up a bit.

"What if I want to cut a fruit into ten slices at once?" you insist.

"Then just tape some knives together and make a  _super_ -knife."

You grin.

"But how will I get the slices even?"

Robert turns to you, looking deathly serious.

"... _Very_  carefully."

You laugh, probably more than the joke really warrants—but hey, you're happy, which means you're not sad anymore. Probably. Oh god, you can't stop. The laugh-tears are forcing themselves out and your chest is really starting to hurt. Oh  _no_ , the laugh-tears are becoming real tears. Shit. You're just crying, now, and you  _really_  can't stop.

Robert was laughing with you at first, and now, while you can't see his face through your tears, you're sure he's hopelessly confused and concerned.

" _Hey_ _—_ oh no, did I—was it something I said?" he stutters out, putting both hands on your shoulders. "You can buy the fruit slicer if you really want to—"

You laugh again through your sobs in spite of yourself, and you shake your head and desperately try to wipe your eyes and to breathe, and you manage to say,

" _No_ , you—it's just—I'm— _Amanda_ , and—"

And Robert, from what little you can see of him, for a moment looks incredibly sad before pulling you in close and wrapping his arms around your back.

He squeezes you tight, maybe a little too tight but it's  _good_ , it's warm and it's pressure and it makes it all feel real. You press your face into his chest and you cry your fucking eyes out, having taken this as permission—though part of you really hopes you don't ruin his shirt with all the things leaking out of your face, and the humiliation that comes along with that makes you cry more.

But he doesn't say anything. He does lighten up the pressure a little bit, but only to rub your back with one hand and run his other through your hair. This reminds you a lot of the night on Robert's couch, and... somehow, that helps.

"I-it's so  _stupid_ ," you say, voice hoarse and muffled against him but still much clearer than before. "She's not d-dead, she's perfectly fine and safe, I ju-ust—"

"Hey," Robert says, probably the softest you've ever heard him. He holds you a little tighter again. "It's not stupid. It makes perfect sense that you miss them both."

Your heart skips a beat, and for a second you're very surprised because you didn't even mention your husband just now... But you remember that Robert truly understands exactly what you've gone through. It's just that this situation has only happened in reverse until now.

You feel a little bit helpless, but also incredibly grateful.

And before you can say or even feel anything else, Robert pulls back just slightly and presses his lips to the very top of your forehead. Then he resumes running a firm hand through your hair, pressing your head to his chest.

By this point you think you've stopped trembling entirely, but you opt for staying in his arms for a bit longer. God, it just... it just feels so  _nice_.

"...Talk about slicing  _fruits_ , huh?" you eventually think to say.

Robert barks a laugh, at which you decide to finally pull away and wipe your face—though it doesn't take much to see that he's teared up a bit, too. You don't feel the need to mention it. You kind of do want to bring up the forehead kiss, though. But you don't do that either.

"I could really go for a smoothie about now, honestly," you tell him instead.

"Good thing you have one of those electric knife-bowls."

 

 

**(cheek)**

 

When Amanda comes home for the holidays, it makes all that grief seem especially stupid if only because of how  _happy_  she is, and how much she has to say about her fun new campus—but at the same time, you couldn't be more excited or relieved.

The rest of the dads in the cul-de-sac seem plenty excited to see her, too. Particularly Robert, who, crazily enough, is the one to suggest that they all get together for a big winter-themed party to celebrate.

"And Joey over there can host it, because he has the biggest house."

You're about to tell him that he can't just volunteer someone else to host a party, but then Prep Dad himself seems to pop right out of the bushes and say that that's a  _fantastic_  idea. Apparently, you later find out, Joseph hosts some kind of party in December every year. Just not usually for anything as  _significant_  as a daughter returning from college.

You also find out—and are not exactly surprised to hear—that Robert hasn't been attending those parties the past few years, due to, in his words,

"Wade Boggs can drink twice his body weight in beer and then hit a home run and he's a  _legend_ , but when  _I_ do it I'm 'ruining Christmas' and 'destroying our living room with that baseball bat, please stop!' or some nonsense like that."

...Part of you is sure that can't be entirely true. But just in case, you don't ask, so at least you can have the illusion of ignorance.

Whatever did happen (if any One Thing happened at all), the other dads seem perfectly fine, if not overtly happy, with Robert attending this year. He has, after all, been making a serious effort to get his life back together lately. That's included drinking a little less, even, or at least limiting getting absolutely  _hammered_  to special occasions.

God, you're really proud of him. It's just barely been five months since that night of your third date, and while he hasn't exactly turned around entirely (not that you'd even want him to), he's really trying. You think the other dads must feel the same, or the closest they  _can_  without spending the time you've had with him.

Even Amanda, who really didn't see much of him at all before leaving, notices the difference pretty easily.

"Hey, looks like someone's finally showering regularly!" is, unfortunately, one of the first things she says to Robert's face.

Your head whips around so fast you swear you hear something crack, and you're about to say her name in a scandalized fashion, but then—

"Hey, looks like someone's finally getting plagued by existential dread regularly," he responds with a smirk.

She gives him an absolutely crazed look. "You're goddamn right I am! How'd you know?"

"Because that's just what college  _is_."

It's because of those kind of comments that when the party comes around, you decide it's only fair that Amanda is allowed to have some of the Special Eggnog, or wine or whatever else. You know she's been drunk before, and you know she's probably gotten drunk multiple times at college already, and frankly, you trust her to only drink when she's in a safe situation. And now is especially safe, even aside from the fact that they're all celebrating  _her_.

Along with their respective winter-related denominations, of course.

But it really is more of a catch-up-with-Amanda sort of gathering for most, which you have mixed feelings about. Your little girl is becoming a real socialite! But just like that first barbecue, while she's out there being the life of the party, your socially inept ass is in the corner, interacting with two or three people for the whole thing.

One of those people is a dog. Another is one of Joseph's creepy kids who, at some point, simply hands you a piece of paper with some numbers written on it and runs off.

The third, of course, is Robert. He is currently making the most of this Special Occasion, but is still able to tell you with apparent sobriety,

"Don't think too hard about it—kid totally stole the idea from Knowing. It wasn't even a good movie! And I'm not just saying that because I hate Nicolas Cage."

"Aw, what's wrong with Nicolas Cage?" you say, just to get him to pause in the middle of taking a drink directly out of a wine bottle and to give you that look—

There it is, that  _look_.

For a solid three seconds, he is completely disgusted. Horrified. Appalled. Affronted. Scandalized. Personally offended in every possible way. And then you simply cannot hold a straight face anymore, and you burst into laughter.

"Don't ever... say those words, to me. Ever again," he tells you very seriously, and you know he really is. It was absolutely worth it—especially to have him clasp your shoulder and dissolve into giggles with you afterward.

He pushes the nearly empty wine bottle into your hand, and without thinking you do what he expects and chug the rest, as some of your first alcohol of the night. You know there'll definitely be plenty more.

Drinking with Robert now is a lot different than it used to be. It may still be a source of relief from internal problems (for the both of you, really), especially on these occasions, but you know that he doesn't rely on it. He's in a place where alcohol is far less likely to amplify those problems. He won't drown in it, if only because he never drinks alone anymore. You just... need to keep an eye on him.

Maybe you don't even really  _need_  to anymore, maybe you just want to. Just in case.

It's a little difficult to do that, though, when you're knocking back those spicy non-denominational holiday cocktails just as much as he is. You're not quite sure if it's simply the celebration, or the bonding experience, or if you've honestly  _needed_  the smooth waves of inebriation lately... but in any case there is just  _no_  way you're staying sober tonight.

Well, until—

"Daaaad, really?"

Both you and Robert abruptly sit up straight and unfold from each other (you realize that your legs have been on his lap and he's had one arm behind you) to see Amanda standing in front of you. Her arms are folded and her lips are pursed, and it feels quite like the parent-child roles have been reversed.

"I haven't had that much to drink, 'Manda, honest!" you slur just slightly, throwing your hands up.

Beside you, Robert chuckles, and then throws his arm back around your shoulders.

"We're sober as a board, I tell you.  _As a board!_ "

Now your daughter seems thoroughly entertained. "Yeah, you either mean sober as a  _bird_ , which literally means you're not sober, or  _straight_  as a board, which is just a dang lie."

"Hey!" Robert says, pointing a sharp finger in her direction. "...Watch your fuckin' language, kid."

All three of you start giggling like idiots. Amanda, who  _better_  be the most sober by far (considering how you're feeling right now), stops first.

"...Well, anyway, Dad, I'm not even talking about how rightfully hammered you are. You've just been here in the corner with Rob the whole party! I've talked to Damien and Brian and Mat and everyone else and they  _all_  say they've barely talked to you tonight. Did you forget how to socialize while I was gone?"

You're sobering up just from this talk, but your head is still swimming quite a bit. You shrug a little and open your mouth—

"Can't forget something you never knew!" Robert says cheerfully, pulling you in tighter and catching you a little off guard. "Not exactly helping by hanging around me so much, though, huh?"

You can kind of hear the grin in his voice. You kind of feel really warm on one side, too. And you're too drunk to necessarily feel shocked, but you kind of freeze when Robert leans forward and presses a big, fat, sloppy kiss to your cheek.

He's clearly a little too drunk to know how much saliva is  _too_  much for a cheek kiss, or how long he's really supposed to hold one. And you couldn't mind it if you  _tried_.

You know you're grinning ear to ear as soon as his stubble scrapes yours with the end of his little smooch—you  _know_ your chest is as warm as it could get, and you especially know how you feel. Meanwhile there's no way you could know for sure how Amanda feels, but she's smiling pretty wide, too.

After another couple seconds she simply grabs your and Robert's hands and says, "C'mon, you drunks! You're gonna come make fools of yourselves in front of each and every one of the other dads if it's the last thing you  _ever_  do."

You and Robert look at each other, and he shrugs. Sounds fair enough.

 

The next morning, when you and Robert are at your counter, about halfway through your respective jars of pickle juice, Amanda pointedly takes a seat across from you.

" _So_ ," she starts, very business-like. "Is Rob gonna be my new dad?"

 _Christ_ —

Next to you, Robert damn near chokes on that pickle juice.

 

 

**(hand)**

 

"There he is, the Mothman himself. Sure glad we captured him in that metal, even if the spell might be wearing off soon."

" _The_  Mothman?" Robert scoffs. "No, just  _a_  mothman. One of many moth _people_. You think it's just one moth guy being an omen of death and destruction for everyone out there? It's not a one-moth job!"

Robert promptly slaps the metal mothman statue's ass, and you laugh, but then you're confused.

"Hold on—I thought you said Mothman is bullshit?"

"Exactly. The idea of one,  _singular_  mothman is bullshit. Just like Sasquatches and Thunderbirds are obviously whole species, and not just one thing roaming the entirety of the continental U.S."

He looks like an absolute madman right now, raving next to a cryptid statue in broad daylight—and you fucking love it. Which he seems to notice, sort of.

"Don't laugh at me!"

"I paid for the gas for this roadtrip," you say, poking a finger into his chest. "I will laugh at you all I want."

He smirks and pokes you right back, dangerously close to your nipple. That is, one inch away from an  _indescribable_  brand of discomfort that you simply cannot risk, so you don't say anything more on the subject. You do, however, remember that Amanda wanted you to get her a souvenir while you're in Point Pleasant.

So you not-so-subtly cover your chest with your arms and ask,

"Hey, you know where we can get a stuffed mothman toy or something? Hey— _don't laugh at me_!"

 

So maybe this roadtrip was a mistake. Or at least, taking a walk through the woods during the  _dark_  hours was.

"Mothpeople aren't  _supposed_  to be hostile," Robert whispers—but you can tell he's trembling, if only from the movement of his flashlight. "Clumsy, enough to fly into cars like birds might, sure, but... Their whole thing is that they  _warn_  us. That makes them nice, doesn't it?"

He's clearly trying to convince himself to feel safe, but for some reason you still open your stupid, impulsive mouth and say,

"Maybe they're not mean  _or_  nice. Maybe they're just like most regular animals with no concept of morality, and they just operate on instinct, thus chaotic neutral at best."

"I'd guess more lawful neutral, but—"

He's interrupted by a long, sort of scratchy, buzzing squeak. Like the mating call of a bird, or, possibly... something else. And you both freeze where you're standing.

"Even lawful neutrals don't react well when you disturb their nest," you say.

" _If_  that's even what it was," he reminds you. "And honestly, it was probably just bats—or bears!"

Like that really makes it any better, especially considering he's equally torn between those two of all things. Regardless, it's so dark that even the flash on your phone could barely get a clear picture (or  _bear_ -ly?), and you were already running so it's just as blurry as any typical cryptid photo. You just know that it had red eyeshine.

"Do you  _want to believe_  or not?" you ask, trying to lighten the mood.

He's breathing hard, still frozen in place, but he manages a chuckle.

"I think I just want to get back to the motel and order a pizza, and also to never watch The Blair Witch Project ever again. Well—I'll still watch the new sequel eventually, just too see with my own two eyes how bad it is."

 _Wait_ —

"There's another sequel?" You are  _so_  out of the loop.

For all he says about not being afraid of silence, explaining the premise and everything he's heard about  _Blair Witch_  seems to calm Robert down considerably. The two of you start walking again, hopefully in the direction of the road, making sure to keep track of the sides of the path with the flashlights.

Your flashlight, at this point, is just your phone because your real one crapped out earlier. Just your guys' luck that not too long after you continue walking, Robert's stops working, too.

Instead of immediately resorting to using his phone as well (you guess he doesn't have much battery left), he stops again and vigorously hits the bottom of the flashlight. It flickers a bit, but refuses to stay on for longer than a few seconds.

You hear him cursing under his breath, mostly at himself for not thinking to bring more batteries, and he's trembling again, and—

Something shakes in the trees behind you. You and Robert slowly look at each other, then spin around to see—well, nothing of note for a moment. But then there are two red eyes, or something that  _looks_  like eyes, glowing through the leaves. You're frozen with fear, but instinct carries your phone-holding hand up and your thumb to the camera button.

You imagine it's a similar instinct that makes Robert grab the hand that's between you and lace your fingers together tight—

All at once, the flash goes off, and Robert pulls your hands up and presses a firm kiss to the back of yours, and your head snaps over to him and away from whatever you've just taken a picture of—and then, without letting go, Robert  _runs_.

Your whole body is jerked around with him but you can't find any room amongst all the adrenaline to mind, nor do you mind the vice-grip Robert has on your hand, or the similar grip you have to keep on your phone.

Miraculously, you make it back to the truck, and Robert practically jumps the hood to get to the driver's side. The few seconds it takes for him to unlock the doors feel like forever, but the moment you slam the door, you feel a relief like you've  _never_  felt. Still, Robert is frantic to get the key in the ignition, and doesn't relax in the least until you're officially speeding down the road.

Then he finally  _breathes_ , and looks over at you and laughs.

"Are we alive?"

You're all but collapsed in the passenger's seat, so you know you don't look it, but every part of you  _feels_  it. More than you've felt it in a long time.

You grin breathlessly, and you hold your left hand out. He doesn't hesitate to take it and grip it tight.

"Fuckin' hope so," you say.

 

 

**(mouth)**

 

It's the end of March, and you and Robert have snuck into your Midnight Movie Of The Month. You're both just a tiny bit drunk (the perfect, relatively healthy amount), and this time the movie is a sequel to a pretty successful R-rated comedy that came out two years ago. The kind of sequel that more or less re-hashes the same plot with the same characters except one new character, and just a handful of new jokes.

Not a complete waste of your time, but mediocre enough that even Robert isn't entirely enthusiastic about staying for the credits. Unfunny bloopers of the not-so-notable scenes play to the side while the names roll out, and the two of you groan in your seats while everyone else simply leaves the theatre and give you weird looks.

Fortunately, no animals were hurt in the making of this film, and that's a delightful enough of a turnaround that Robert grins while you walk out.

"Gotta say, was  _not_  a fan of that one gross-out gag," you say, "but I appreciate the lack of a shoehorned straight romance."

"Who even likes gross-outs these days?" Robert agrees, maybe a little too loudly. "Especially if you're old enough to watch an R-rated film. It's so fucking lazy, like, just write a  _real_  joke! Goddamn!"

You walk out of the theater with Robert's arm slung around your shoulders and a few twenty-somethings staring in your direction. Some of them are pulling out umbrellas, too, even though it's only sort of drizzling. As though to assert your dominance, you stare right back at them while walking out into the rain.

"Staring down kids, huh? I'm game. Bet those assholes  _liked_  this shitty movie."

So you and Robert stop, and you both put on your best stony expressions to unnerve these kids who had the  _gall_  to look like they disagree with your cinematic opinions. After no time at all, they avert their gazes entirely and briskly walk away.

"Success!"

"Man, college-aged kids are so much less confrontational than young teenagers," Robert says with a slight laugh, and you immediately look at him because you know exactly what he's referring to.

With that first date from almost a year ago fresh in your mind, you can't help but grin. Why would you  _want_  to help it? It was such a fun night, and it was pretty much the  _beginning_  of what you and Robert have now, and... it reminds you of how much he's changed since then, how much happier he's become.

God, you... you love him  _so_  much.

You think about that a lot because there's no reason to deny it to yourself, but you don't often think about how obvious it might be. Now, though... it's raining harder, and Robert hasn't stopped smiling back at you. For a fraction of a second you think you  _know_.

And after that you  _do_  know, because Robert puts his free hand on your face and kisses you. Lips against your lips, stubble against your stubble, nose pushed up against your cheek— _that_  kind of kiss.

You've been struggling not to initiate this for so long that you, quite honestly,  _break_. You grab his face with both hands and kiss back, and you press as closely into him as you can, and you are just so...  _overwhelmed_  that it takes you far too long to think.

You pull away at some point, and you try to say something, but you're too busy catching your breath and trying not to rip your face in half with your own grin.

"...I need you to know," Robert starts, looking as intense as you feel. "This isn't some impulse. I... I've been ready for a long time, I really have.  _Months_. I..."

"And you waited... to be able to kiss me in the rain?" is the first thing you think to say, even now. "What are you, some kind of romantic?"

He immediately lets out a laugh (probably at the New Jersey accent you were putting on) and kisses you again. And goddammit, you don't care that it's a cliche, kissing while getting absolutely soaked  _is_  romantic.

Having a kid who's out past curfew yelling at you to find somewhere to make out is a little bit of a turn-off, meanwhile, but you make it work.

 

 

**((everything))**

 

It's  _your_  turn.

You absolutely meant it when you told Robert you were willing to simply be his friend. You care for him so much that you truly believe you could easily be nothing more than a friend to him  _forever_  if that's all he wanted. In the past ten months you have refused to make  _any_  kind of move—you never wanted to pressure him, knowing he could easily fall into the impulse.

But hell if you aren't fucking  _ecstatic_  that he is so far beyond the ability to be pressured—that he honestly feels the same.

"Did you really wait just to make it more dramatic?" you simply have to ask.

"To be honest..." he starts, then shakes his head and sighs. "I have no goddamn clue why I waited. I've  _never_  waited for something I wanted so badly before."

You think that's probably a sign of some serious growth, and you're proud, but moreso you're too overwhelmed, again, to do anything but continue kissing him.

You kiss his lips raw, and you pepper kisses over his cheeks, and you kiss up his jaw—and you hear his breath hitch and feel his hands clutch at your back, and  _god_ , that unlocks something in you. A switch is flipped and you're  _desperate_ , you kiss harder, you bite at his jaw, you make your way up to his earlobe and suck, and—

Robert  _moans_ , which startles you enough to back up.

And he's... completely flushed. You guess, based on the way he's looking at you, that you must be, too.

"...Yeah?" he breathes, giving you a little nod.

Your face feels so fucking hot. " _Yeah_. But not on the couch."

He follows you to your bed, and then tackles you into it, grinning nearly too wide to even kiss you properly. But he doesn't need to, because  _you_  plan on doing the kissing. And he seems to know this, to agree wholeheartedly, even—because he rolls you over so that he's the one on his back.

"You alright with this?" he mutters against your lips. "Because I—I've just thought so much about—"

" _Fuck_ , Rob,  _yes_ ," you breathe. Yes, you are  _very_  alright with this.

You are  _so_  alright with this that your hands, seemingly of their own volition, are already up Robert's shirt and helping him out of it. You're already sitting up, you're ready to wrap your arms around him and hold him there when  _he's_  up—

You're clutching at his back and his waist, you're sucking hickies into his neck (he's pulling your hair so hard you almost can't bring yourself to stop), you're kissing and biting down his collarbones, his chest, his  _scar_... You're pushing him back onto the bed, and taking just a moment to watch his face as you roll your hips into his, and sinking back down.

You put your mouth to a nipple, and Robert—hard, tough, Robert "knives are my biggest turn-on" Small—is already  _gone_. You smirk and nip down and clutch at his chest hair, and suddenly each and every one of his breaths sounds like your name.

Before moving onto the other one, you think you ought to give the poor man a break. So you sit back up to see Robert looking far more caught off guard than you've been at all.

"I—I swear, it's not normally so  _sensitive_ , it's... Christ, I guess I've just gone longer without sex than I have... since... oh,  _shit_ , like... high school."

That honestly  _amazes_  you, but you stop yourself before you can get distracted by it—and you bend down to kiss Robert before he can, either.

"Rob...," you say, looking him directly in the eye. "...Babe. I'm going to do this to your whole body, if you don't mind."

You only have to see his eyes light up to know that he most certainly does  _not_.

 

 

**neck.**

 

Not much changes at all, really.

The two of you have been comfortably intimate in plenty of ways  _long_  before that night. You realize very quickly, in fact, that even if Robert hadn't come forward with his desire to continue something romantic... you were already  _in_  something romantic.

He was already all but living here. You were already cooking for him on a regular basis. You were already sitting thigh-to-thigh with him while you watched  _Long Haul Ice Road Paranormal Ghost Truckers_  together. The both of you were already hanging all over each other at every single function, and you were already holding hands and giving each other those  _looks_ , and...

And maybe you haven't been kissing a whole bunch or sleeping with each other until now, but you're damn fucking sure you've been in love.

For now, neither of you are thinking too hard about him moving in more officially, or any other official-type stuff. You're just enjoying this new bonus to your relationship.

One of the biggest bonuses for Robert, you notice, is being able to snake his arms around your waist and kiss the back of your neck while you're cooking. You think it's the sweetest thing, even if he does it literally multiple times a day, and even if it has—on multiple occasions, now—made you fuck up an egg or two. He eats everything you fuck up, anyway.

Sometimes, aside from being sweet, it's just incredibly comforting. You'll be on a sort of exhausted autopilot with your cooking or dish-washing, and he'll replace the empty space behind you, all big and rough and warm... And then his lips on the back of your neck warm you up even more.

"Think that spot's gonna go raw from your stubble, eventually," you mumble one morning, while going a bit limp in his arms. You've only managed to open a cupboard before he could get you, today.

"I might have something in my arsenal that'll counteract it," Robert says, low and directly into your ear.

You figure it's a fifty-fifty between alcohol-related remedy and sexual innuendo, based on his voice alone. But then he evidently sticks his lips as far out as he can, and  _blows a fucking raspberry_  onto what is probably one of the most sensitive parts of your body.

" _Ah_ —I swear to god—!" You  _yelp_ , and you giggle out of a tickle instinct that you didn't even know still existed, and you spin around in Robert's arms to give him a  _what-for_ —

Then your front door swings open, which can't shock either of you enough to break apart anymore. But the person on the other side does.

"Hey—"

" _Amanda!_ " You and Robert both are sprinting for the door, now. "I thought you weren't coming home for Spring Break?"

You wrap her in one of your big dad bear hugs before she can even answer, and after that, she's met with an awkward, albeit excited Robert. She doesn't seem to hesitate to leap forward and hug him, too.

"...Hey, kid."

"I wasn't," she answers you, lips slowly stretching into a weird smile. "But I changed my mind last minute and wanted to surprise you—and hooooooo  _boy_  was the jet lag  _worth it_!"

She's practically grinning ear-to-ear, now, still glancing back and forth between you and Robert like she's expecting something—and then you catch where her line of sight is going. Oh, god.  _How_  did you forget about the hickies?

You watch Robert follow your realization immediately after, then share an awkward sort of look with him. Of course, you fully intended to tell Amanda the next time you saw her, but... you didn't think it would happen like  _this_.

At least  _she's_  enjoying it.

The moment your eyes are back on your daughter, she throws a surprisingly strong arm around each of your necks and pulls you both in for another hug.

"I love  _both_  of you stupid, oblivious idiots," she says.

And she smacks two quick kisses, successively, on your and Robert's cheek.

**Author's Note:**

> It was just an owl, btw. Like a mothperson is just gonna be hanging out where people are hunting for them MOST
> 
> ([recommended listening](https://8tracks.com/captainlucifer/put-your-lights-on))


End file.
